


Anemone

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:51:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8938642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Eönwë watches Maglor swim.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The earth beneath him is warm and soft, the grass bright and long, the sparkling ocean stretching endlessly across the horizon; even Eönwë, at least in this from, can’t see across to the wicked world beyond. The water laps calmly at the shores of Valinor, and Kanafinwë laughs as he runs from that tide, his bare feet splashing clear flecks across the bottom of his robes. He holds them up as he plays with the waves, darting through the slick sand. His face is twisted in mirth: the very picture of beauty.

Eönwë’s seen things that even other Maiar have been denied. He’s been across the sea and back, walked through Aulë’s forge and Manwë’s halls, watched Yavanna give life to the earth. But nothing strikes him as so lovely as this one fair creature, dancing about to his own song.

Kanafinwë sings as he moves, loud and clear. The birds flock to him—swans upon the waves, hummingbirds about the flowers back along the cliffs, white doves that watch from the skies. Oblivious to them all, Kanafinwë makes his own melodies, and twirls around in his harmony, dark hair flying out behind him. Perched on the cliff’s top so far beyond an Eldar’s sight, Eönwë’s grateful for his gifts. He’s blessed, he knows, to see this, to hear it through the wind, to have senses sharp enough to even catch the soft scent of Kanafinwë, even so far away. Many of the other Eldar are troubled now, concerning themselves too greatly with weapons and power, Fëanáro most of all, but his second son still delights in such simple pleasures. To Eönwë, he is the pinnacle of _good_. 

He strolls away from the water when another wave chases him out. He comes to dry sand instead, only to pause and turn back to the sea. He pulls the sash from his waist without looking, then shrugs the lavender robes from his shoulders, and they pool silkily at his feet. Bared to the world, on this open beach that anyone can enjoy, Kanafinwë wades forward, tall and proud. For now, this sand is only his, and Eönwë alone watches his supple form walk into the waiting tide. The water licks around his feet and twines up his body with each new step, lapping at his creamy skin. It swallows his trim legs, his plush thighs, the ends of his hair, smoothing it along the slender arch of his spine. His arms are spread, hands gathering the water. Eönwë eyes the taut cheeks of his rear disappearing beneath the waves, then his strong stomach enveloped, until all that’s left is his head and shoulders, dark strands slicked all about him. He ducks, then, to draw his face underwater, only to buck out a moment later, tossing his long mane back and scattering a thousand droplets. His long fingers breach the surface to run down through his hair. He’s a masterpiece, and it’s a shame to lose the sight of so much of him.

Still, Kanafinwë drifts forward, as though possessed by Ulmo’s call, until eventually, no more of him is left. Eönwë watches with a sense of loss, waiting for him to reemerge for the air he needs to breathe. 

Eönwë waits a long moment. Then a strange sensation prickles into his Elven form; _what if Kanafinwë doesn’t rise?_

 _Fear_ is a foreign concept to him, but he knows it’s cold terror that permeates his mind. The world would be far lesser without Kanafinwë’s song. Eönwë’s heart would fall. He strains forward, focusing everything he is on one of Manwë’s winds, wanting news, and when it doesn’t come, he jerks to his feet and races to the end of the cliff, leaping off. Feathered wings spread from his back as easily as if they’d always been there, and he soars straight for the water, descending an arm’s length from where Kanafinwë sank. He can see the dark reflection of Kanafinwë below the green-blue surface, and with a tremendous clap of his wings and a flare of raging _heat_ , Eönwë burns and swirls the water away, plunging air into the middle. The sea parts all around him, rising up in towering walls, leaving the spongy ocean floor below, a single crab scurrying away. 

Kanafinwë lands gently on the sand, as though he’d been standing there all along, perfectly upright and fine, whether in water or air. Eönwë stands before him and doesn’t know what to say. Eönwë’s golden aurora makes the water whirling around them glisten. He wears the white robes of his service, while Kanafinwë stands bare, all the moisture robbed from his skin, his hair still plastered straight down his shoulders. He dons a dazzling smile that could put any jewel to shame.

“I was hoping you would save me,” he sighs, voice halfway between a hum and a chuckle. Eönwë’s body seems to warm with it. Kanafinwë has a way of making him... _feel_.

He asks anyway, “Are you well?”

Kanafinwë laughs: a gorgeous, lilting sound that could lay to rest any troubles. He tells Eönwë in a singsong way, “Perfectly; my lungs are not as weak as you seem to think. But I am better for having lured my spy to come and play with me.” 

Eönwë feels a strange tingling along his cheeks. It takes him a moment to place the feeling as _embarrassment_. He has no excuse for his lingering gaze, other than that Kanafinwë chose a free beach where any might do so. Eönwë says sincerely, “I apologize for ruining your swim.”

Kanafinwë smiles like he’s done no such thing. Kanafinwë purrs, “Take off your clothes and join me, and we will consider the matter settled.” Kanafinwë is already stepping back into the water, letting his body be consumed again, though now he wades higher to keep his head above the surface. He is...

Far too tempting. 

Eönwë floats higher himself, then lets the clothing strewn about this form dissolve into the air, his wings doing the same, and the waves come crashing back around them.


End file.
